


Mischief Managed

by Shadowofahunter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Connections, If you haven't seen 6x8 yet don't read this as it has spoilers in it!!, Oneshot, POV Sheriff Stilinski, Red String, Remember, Season 6 Episode 8 - Blitzkrieg, Sheriff Stilinski Feels, Sheriff Stilinski Knows, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Spoilers, i warned you, stiles's room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 10:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9381308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowofahunter/pseuds/Shadowofahunter
Summary: MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOURE NOT UP TO DATE WITH TEEN WOLF!! I don't want to ruin anything for anyone so please do not read this is if you're not up to date.Noah stared at the red ball of string sitting humbly by the box of coloured pins. Maybe this was his answer. His answer to everything. He stepped closer, afraid it would vanish like an illusion; only a mirage that will evaporate the moment he reached out to touch it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As I put in the tags this has MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 6x8 if you haven't seen it yet 1)go watch it it's amazing 2) don't read it as it'll spoil it for you

Noah stared at the red ball of string sitting humbly by the box of coloured pins. Maybe this was his answer. His answer to everything. He stepped closer, afraid it would vanish like an illusion; only a mirage that will evaporate the moment he reached out to touch it. 

The nerves in the tips of his fingers are working in overdrive, he grasped the ball, fingers brushing the soft fabric. He nearly cried as a small laugh of hysteria bubbled up from his throat. It was real. Maybe Stiles was too. He gripped it tight and pulled it down from the shelf, eyes glued to the innocent ball of material. A soft disturbance behind him made him turn around. A large cork board hung by the window. He blinked, when had that appeared. 

His finger slipped over the lip of the plastic pin box and one of the metal tips pricked his fingertip. He started again, eyes flicking between the ball of string and pins. Slowly he approached the board, hand lightly brushing the cork he pulled the end of the string and held it with one finger and with the other he stuck a blue pin through it. Blue is just pretty.

A feeling. He felt happiness weave into his thoughts. He hadn't felt that sort of relief in a long time. A smile ghosted his lips. He turned around and stuck another up in the wall next to him, linking them with string. Another change. Pages and posters were pinned to the cork board, just like his own at the station. In his minds eye he remembered walls crammed with clues and printed out sheets off the Internet - organised in its chaos. Excitement began to lift its hopeful head; he was remembering. 

Hurriedly he began to place pins everywhere, the floor, the walls, haloing the door and windows. With each pin a new item would reappear: a bed, a desk, small decorations all symbols screaming of his lost sons existence. With the objects memories too began to resurface. His fingers grew clumsy in their haste to remember, he stabbed himself countless times with the pins, the red dye in the string began to rub off on his fingers. He didn't care. 

To begin with the memories were cloudy, as though he was looking through murky water, ripples distorted the images but with each pin placement they sharpened. As though he was seeing for the first time. Stiles, his son. A boy who was hyperactive to the point of insanity for Noah, but he was the light of his life. He made him laugh, comforted him, raised his spirits and lowered his hand when he raised glasses of spirits. The original happiness welled up so much that he also shouted with joy, he had a son! He was on the lacrosse team - fair enough he wasn't the best but he still tried - he was bright but sometimes didn't apply it to the fullest potential, an echo of Coach's voice sounded through his head ranting about how in his econ paper he'd written the "entire history of the male circumcision". Stiles was the best son anyone could ask for. 

He was also the best friend anyone could ask for. Scott would tell you that, as would Lydia, Malia, Liam, anyone in the Pack. Scott had always been out of place, Stiles too. So naturally they bonded fantastically. They found friendship in their oddities. Together they grew up, moulding their characters until they were almost one person. They were inseparable. Even after Scott was bitten Stiles wouldn't let him go, if anything he clung even tighter, pulling his brother through all the crap that ensued, even if it was at his own cost. Lydia, at first ignored him, now is linked with him on a stronger bond than comradeship, he'd always been infatuated, Noah smiles as he remembers the day Stiles burst into the kitchen declaring his undying love for Lydia Martin in Third Grade. His eyes were wide and glittered, his pupils were dilated swallowing up most of his hazel irises. They seemed to absorb the very sunlight. His five, then ten, year plan finally worked and they had fallen closer and closer until Noah caught them "platonically" holding hands Stiles has insisted. Malia, she was complex. Stiles held a deep rooted connection with her, he was her anchor, her tether to humanity. She was territorial and difficult sometimes but her heart was in the right place, she understood him and his erratic ways. The Pack was made vulnerable with a human in their midst, but without him they wouldn't even exist.

Finally when every conceivable space was taken up by red string and pins Noah stood still, soaking up everything. Around the room were little pools of red string, on each string line was a link to his boy. His lost boy. He'd sworn to Claudia that he'd never lose him, he would always watch out for him, knowing she'd always be watching over them. He'd make her proud. What had gone wrong? His mind played through the past like an old movie tape; a toddler ran on thick legs arms outstretched into the smiling arms of his parents, a loud silent laugh bursting from their child's mouth full of mirth. A still young boy sitting on his father's lap, book in hand, brow furrowed with concentration as he learned to read by himself, he'd always been determined to master that. A nine year old waving at his father grinning from ear to ear as he won an award in school, uncaring that others were staring at him. A teenage boy hugging his dad who reciprocated the love. 

Noah felt tears welling up in his eyes, throat thickening, chest aching with suppressed sobs, he gripped the red ball tighter. How could he forget such a vibrant person? Noah took in a deep breath and steadied himself, exhaling a held in breath of air. He released the tension in his fingers but didn't drop the ball - his lifeline to Stiles. Then a light began to glow to his right. Noah stared at it, amazed. There was a figure sitting on a wooden bench. Back hunched, head hung low hair flopping down near his eyes, hands clasped loosely together. He wore a red plaid shirt, jeans and black converse. Stiles was sitting mere metres away from him. As though sensing his gaze, Stiles glance to his left, a flicker of recognition passed across his face and he sat up bolt straight, brown eyes alight with hope, mouth opening to call out.

Then it vanished. The ring of light that showed him his son shrank back to nothing leaving only plain wall and window. Noah was dumbstruck. He was real. A fullness seemed to fill up his chest, a missing piece was refitted, he didn't realise there was a void until it had been filled. He needed Stiles and Stiles needed him. 

Noah steeled himself, he would get him back. He had a son and his name was Mieczyslaw.


End file.
